Portia glanced up at him. She’d expected him to be nervous, but he seemed calm, cool. Like himself, but with a bit of charm rounding out his rough edges. He wasn’t exactly Tavish—he was the Duke of Edinburgh now, testing out the persona that she’d helped craft. She couldn’t help but wonder if that was good or bad.

An older man who had been standing behind David shuffled into the circle, rheumy eyes squinted as he blatantly examined Tavish. He scowled, but then a bit of laughter escaped from his mouth.

“Well, if you aren’t the spitting image of your grandfather.”

“May I present Lord Washburn,” Leslie said, and Portia made a mental note of his name and face, then realized she wouldn’t need to know his name for future events.

“He had a sharp tongue too, you know,” Washburn said. “Got him into heaps of trouble, but always made for an amusing time. Some people prefer mealy-mouthed brownnosing, but my god things have been boring until the last few weeks.”

David sneered. He was likely having the worst night of his life, so Portia couldn’t blame him.

“I’m glad I could amuse you,” Tavish said. “Are you the Washburn who’s been advocating against sanctuary for immigrants? I imagine you won’t find me amusing for long.”

Portia felt a surge of pride at his quick response, but Washburn seemed to take the threat in stride. “Oh right, that’s to be your pet project it seems. Let’s talk a bit when you’ve settled into the role. I’m always up for a spirited debate.”

The man shuffled away.

“A debate. That’s what this is for him, the git.” Tavish shook his head.

Portia felt a trickle of relief. He was still Tav.

“Well, he’s as far as you’ll get. You see, for most of us, there is no debate,” David said.

“Do you practice saying ridiculous shit like this in a mirror?” Portia asked, making sure she smiled politely so anyone watching would assume their conversation was convivial. “The former duke would have hated everything you stand for.”

“The former duke was a promiscuous drunk who squandered his power,” David said, his face flushing red.

“Well, he managed to do two things right,” Portia said. “And neither of them was allowing the dukedom to be passed down to someone like you. Good thing now you’re the former duke.”

“I’ll take you around and make the introductions,” Leslie said to Tav politely, as if Portia and David had been discussing the weather. Polite sniping was common, so Portia was sure she’d seen much worse.

Tavish turned to Portia and held his arm out, but Leslie slid her own into the opening. “It’s best if I bring you around. Portia, lovely as she is, would raise questions and distract from your integration.”

Portia knew Leslie wasn’t trying to be rude—and that she was correct—but it still made her stomach hurt. She’d been replaced, just like that. Her parents had Narisa. Tav had Leslie.

No one really needs you.

The brief panic on Tavish’s face spoke to just how important it was that he learned to do this without her at his side. And she needed to be proud of him for not needing her.

“Go ahead. I’ll go find Johan,” she said cheerily.

His expression cleared, his man of mystery swagger returned. “I’ll nip back round and find you in a bit.”

Leslie was already pulling him away, so he threw her a beleaguered grin over his shoulder. Portia had to admit they made a lovely couple; they’d certainly grace many magazine covers if Tavish took Leslie up on her sad offer. She couldn’t imagine he would, but maybe it would benefit them both. Maybe after a few months mingling with the elite, he’d see that Leslie’s idea wasn’t so far-fetched, comparatively speaking.

A sudden hard grip on her arm shocked her. When she tried to pull away and couldn’t, she felt the beginnings of panic. She looked up into David’s face, which was placid, as if he weren’t squeezing her arm like a vise.

“Let go of me.” She reminded herself that she was in a room full of people. That he couldn’t hurt her—could he? The fact that he didn’t seem to care if anyone noticed chilled her. This man had until that very night been wielding an inordinate amount of power. After the night was over, he’d still have the power of his wealth and connections. He thought nothing of using that power to intimidate a woman seemingly just because he could.

He tugged her closer to him, and Portia stutter-stepped forward though she tried to resist.

I should scream, she thought. I should say something.

She looked up at him and didn’t say anything at all.

“I don’t know what your plan is or how you talked him into this, but you and whoever sent you to do this to me are going to regret it,” David said.

“Sent me?” She didn’t know what he was talking about.

“Don’t play coy,” he growled. “You think I don’t know who you are? Who your parents are and the inquiries they’ve been making? Oh, the daughter of real estate venture capitalists just happens to get her hooks into the love child of a duke.”

Portia snapped out of it. She could do the genteel thing, and politely move away, but not when a strange man was holding her arm and muttering paranoid threats at her. She wouldn’t put up with that in a subway car or night club, and she wouldn’t accept it from some bawbag in middle-of-nowhere Scotland. She couldn’t reach her pepper spray, so she pivoted toward David, placed her hand gently on his chest, and kneed him in the balls.